incredulously.
"Why, no'm," Garion said, exaggerating just a bit, "when you get right down to the core of it, he didn't. There was 'theses' and 'thises' and 'themses' that I can't quite get the hang of. Me and the pig got along good, though."
"Garion," Polgara said a bit distantly, "do you suppose you could ride back there a ways?" She gestured toward the rear of the column. ' 'Several hundred yards or so, I'd say.''
"Yes, ma'am," he said. He reined Chretienne in. The big gray horse, he noted, also seemed a bit offended by something in the air.
By general request, Garion bathed that night in a shockingly cold mountain stream. When he returned, shivering, to the fire, Belgarath looked at him and said, "I think you'd better put your armor back on. If half of what your friend with the pig said is true, you might need it."
"Peg," Garion corrected.
"What?"
"Never mind."
The next morning dawned clear and definitely chilly. The mail coat felt clammy even through the padded tunic Garion always wore under it, and it was heavy and uncomfortable. Durnik cut him a lance from a nearby thicket and leaned it against a tree near where the horses were picketed.
Belgarath came back from a small hilltop where he had been surveying the plains below. "From what I can see, the turmoil is fairly general down there, so there isn't much point in trying to avoid people. The quicker we get past Voresebo, the better, so we might as well ride straight on through. We'll try to talk our way out of any difficulties first; and, if that doesn't work, we'll do it the other way."
"I suppose I'd better go find another club," Sadi sighed.
They rode out with Garion jingling along in the lead. His helmet was in place, and his shield was strapped to his left , arm. The butt of his lance rested beside his foot in his stirrup, and he affected a menacing scowl. The sword strapped Across his back pulled steadily at him, indicating that they were still on the trail of Zandramas. When they reached the edge of the foothills, the winding mountain track became a narrow, rutted road stretching off toward the southeast. They picked up their pace and moved along the road at a brisk pace.
A few miles out onto the plain, they passed a burning village set back about a half mile from the road. They did not stop to investigate. About noon, they encountered a party of armed men on foot. There were about fifteen of them, and they wore clothing which vaguely resembled uniforms.
"Well?" Garion said back over his shoulder, tightening his grip on his lance.
"Let me talk to them first," Silk said, moving his horse forward. "Try to look dangerous." The little man walked his horse toward the strangers. "You're blocking the road," he told them in a flat, unfriendly tone.
"We have orders to check everyone who passes," one of them said, looking at Garion a little nervously.
"All right, you've checked us. Now stand aside."
"Which side are you on?"
"Now, that's a stupid question, man," Silk replied. "Which side are you on?"
"I don't have to answer that."
"Then neither do I. Use your eyes, man. Do I look like a Karand—or a Temple Guardsman—or a Grolim?"
"Do you follow Urvon or Zandramas?"
"Neither one. I follow money, and you don't make money by getting mixed up in religion."
The roughly dressed soldier looked even more uncertain. "I have to report which side you're on to my captain."
"That's assuming that you've seen me," Silk told him, bouncing a purse suggestively on the palm of his hand. "I'm in a hurry, friend. I have no interest in your religion. Please do me the same courtesy."
The soldier was looking at the purse in Silk's hand with undisguised greed.
"It would be worth quite a bit to me not to be delayed," Silk suggested slyly. He theatrically wiped his brow. "It's getting hot out here," he said. "Why don't you and your men go find some shade to rest in? I'll 'accidentally' drop this purse here, and you can 'find' it later. That way, you make a nice profit,
"Why, no'm," Garion said, exaggerating just a bit, "when you get right down to the core of it, he didn't. There was 'theses' and 'thises' and 'themses' that I can't quite get the hang of. Me and the pig got along good, though."
"Garion," Polgara said a bit distantly, "do you suppose you could ride back there a ways?" She gestured toward the rear of the column. ' 'Several hundred yards or so, I'd say.''
"Yes, ma'am," he said. He reined Chretienne in. The big gray horse, he noted, also seemed a bit offended by something in the air.
By general request, Garion bathed that night in a shockingly cold mountain stream. When he returned, shivering, to the fire, Belgarath looked at him and said, "I think you'd better put your armor back on. If half of what your friend with the pig said is true, you might need it."
"Peg," Garion corrected.
"What?"
"Never mind."
The next morning dawned clear and definitely chilly. The mail coat felt clammy even through the padded tunic Garion always wore under it, and it was heavy and uncomfortable. Durnik cut him a lance from a nearby thicket and leaned it against a tree near where the horses were picketed.
Belgarath came back from a small hilltop where he had been surveying the plains below. "From what I can see, the turmoil is fairly general down there, so there isn't much point in trying to avoid people. The quicker we get past Voresebo, the better, so we might as well ride straight on through. We'll try to talk our way out of any difficulties first; and, if that doesn't work, we'll do it the other way."
"I suppose I'd better go find another club," Sadi sighed.
They rode out with Garion jingling along in the lead. His helmet was in place, and his shield was strapped to his left , arm. The butt of his lance rested beside his foot in his stirrup, and he affected a menacing scowl. The sword strapped Across his back pulled steadily at him, indicating that they were still on the trail of Zandramas. When they reached the edge of the foothills, the winding mountain track became a narrow, rutted road stretching off toward the southeast. They picked up their pace and moved along the road at a brisk pace.
A few miles out onto the plain, they passed a burning village set back about a half mile from the road. They did not stop to investigate. About noon, they encountered a party of armed men on foot. There were about fifteen of them, and they wore clothing which vaguely resembled uniforms.
"Well?" Garion said back over his shoulder, tightening his grip on his lance.
"Let me talk to them first," Silk said, moving his horse forward. "Try to look dangerous." The little man walked his horse toward the strangers. "You're blocking the road," he told them in a flat, unfriendly tone.
"We have orders to check everyone who passes," one of them said, looking at Garion a little nervously.
"All right, you've checked us. Now stand aside."
"Which side are you on?"
"Now, that's a stupid question, man," Silk replied. "Which side are you on?"
"I don't have to answer that."
"Then neither do I. Use your eyes, man. Do I look like a Karand—or a Temple Guardsman—or a Grolim?"
"Do you follow Urvon or Zandramas?"
"Neither one. I follow money, and you don't make money by getting mixed up in religion."
The roughly dressed soldier looked even more uncertain. "I have to report which side you're on to my captain."
"That's assuming that you've seen me," Silk told him, bouncing a purse suggestively on the palm of his hand. "I'm in a hurry, friend. I have no interest in your religion. Please do me the same courtesy."
The soldier was looking at the purse in Silk's hand with undisguised greed.
"It would be worth quite a bit to me not to be delayed," Silk suggested slyly. He theatrically wiped his brow. "It's getting hot out here," he said. "Why don't you and your men go find some shade to rest in? I'll 'accidentally' drop this purse here, and you can 'find' it later. That way, you make a nice profit,
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